


Balm

by Holygreensaints (Vortaesthetic)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, I don't know what this is but have it anyway, a little h/c for you, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Holygreensaints
Summary: Seteth is prone to terrible migraines. Byleth Eisner comes to the rescue.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	Balm

**Balm**

Seteth scowled as he attempted to focus on the stacks of paperwork that sat before him. Requisition requests, correspondences, contracts… all of this was very important stuff for him to focus on.

…If not for the horrific throbbing pulse trapped in his temple. It hurt so bad he could hardly think. All he could do is rest his head on the desk and try to close his eyes. He prayed that the few minutes' respite would help ease it somewhat--it did not.

Ordinarily, he relished the warm afternoon sunlight that filtered in through his stained-glass window. Today, however, he couldn't stand it. He fled the confines of his office to seek darker shelter in Jeralt's old room, in which the late Captain had been wise enough to install curtains.

After drawing the curtains closed, he collapsed on the couch, eager to soak up the darkness of the room. He hoped that lying down would ease his discomfort, even if just a little.

He did not sleep, but the blessed darkness helped him find some measure of rest. Or at least it would have, if people weren't constantly trying to visit.

Cyril was the one who found him first. He'd wandered into Jeralt's office looking to locate a missing item and deduced Seteth's ill health from his lurking in the dark. He offered to find Manuela for him, but Seteth declined-- At this hour, Manuela would be in the middle of afternoon lecture and he couldn't justify interrupting her and ushering her over to him for a headache. Cyril went off on his way after that.

Leonie was the one to pop up next-- she had taken to visiting the Captain office when she wanted to take a moment to reflect and she was startled to find the room occupied, by a stricken Seteth, no less.

Byleth silently crept into the room not long after that, having been summoned by Leonie, no doubt. She'd startled him--he was in something of a lull and he was so, so tired that he flirted with the notion of sleep before her sudden appearance startled him.

Her soft, whispered greeting was hypnotic. She gently pressed magic-cooled hands to his forehead, her light touch skimming along his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. It felt heavenly.

She carded delicately through his hair with her fingertips. As awful as his day had been, he was grateful for Byleth's gentle affections; it was in the silent ways like this that she showed her love to be genuine.

She helped him up just enough to get a cup of cool water in him before she let him lay back down, moving about the room to fetch things for him, a pillow for his comfort, a basin, a cool, wet washcloth to rest over his eyes.

"Manuela's lecture is over now, you know," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'll fetch some medicine for you from her office. Don't go anywhere," she teased.

He blushed hotly under the cover of the cloth and smiled at her dumb joke. The truth was that if he could have left, he would have-- not because he disliked Byleth's attentions, but because with Manuela's assistance would come the inevitable lecture.

Manuela was well-acquainted with his condition, a chronic occurrence born from his tendency to overwork, skip sleep, and skip meals. She knew how to treat it of course, but she never passed up the opportunity to lecture him on caring for his well-being.

(It was only to be expected, though. Considering his predilection for lecturing her about her drinking habits, turnabout was fair play.)

He didn't intend to be neglectful of these things. He simply knew no other way to be. He'd been rendered helpless for so long during the ages that he'd spent watching over Flayn. He still bore the raw, weeping wounds in his heart from what had been lost in Tailtean, and though he tried to smooth over the cracks and ignore what he couldn't fix, the wounds always lurked.

It wasn't just about the people he'd lost that day, or about Flayn's peril-- Tailtean had been a personal rebuke of his supposed virtues. For someone who was meant to embody strength, he was too weak to protect those that mattered. For someone so pious, he'd never felt more hopeless than when he'd knelt in that bloody soil. He'd lost his power and his pride and his love on that battlefield and had only grown weaker in the years since. And the world had only grown more frightening.

All he had left was duty. Responsibility. It felt selfish to want for himself when Flayn had lost so much, a sentiment she could never understand. So when the wounds wept and the burdens grew, he buried himself in his tasks and his duty, regardless of the price. If he must suffer, he would rather good come of it for the benefit of those he cares about.

His recent feelings for Byleth and their budding relationship complicated matters for him. Where before he had resolved to pack himself away, Byleth had made him start to want things again. Made him a bit selfish. A bit amorous. Dangerously spontaneous. He felt seen and acknowledged in a way that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

It was in turns exciting and terrifying. His heart was laid vulnerable before her. If she were so inclined, she could harm him irreparably, but something in his heart trusts her implicitly. 

Trust is a complicated issue for him.

His ruminations were interrupted by Byleth re-entering the room, a bottle of Manuela's specialty remedy in hand. It was freshly made, hand mixed from the herbs and extracts Manuela kept in her cabinets. He could smell the bitterness of the willow bark as she uncorked the bottle.

"She was awfully upset, Seteth. She was going to come in here and give you hell, but she decided not to," Byleth said as she dosed out the preparation.

"To what do I owe my good fortune?"

"Bribery. I told her that you looked worse than Hubert on a bad day, and not even that was going to spare you her wrath. So I told her you were going to give her a bottle of nice whiskey in appreciation," she said as Seteth knocked back the bitter shot with a grimace. "She worries about you. She's a good friend, you know. I think you really owe her two."

"Two it is," he conceded as he lay back down on the couch, Byleth sitting beside him, treating him to the calming, cool brush of her hands once again. She narrates her day in soft whispers, her breath gently ghosting over his skin. Between the medicine, his fatigue, and Byleth's comforting touch, the throbbing ebbs and he drifts off into a doze.

He dreams Byleth holds his spirit in her hands. She cradles it delicately, lovingly.

He wants to stay there forever.


End file.
